


The Perfect Christmas Tree

by deltachye



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Gift Fic, Other, Reader-Insert, Romantic Comedy, not rlly canon bcs steve aint cap for simplicity reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 15:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13103085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x steve rogers]A stranger walks into a bar and... insists on taking you shopping for Christmas Decor?[Written for the Christmas 2017 Fic Trade]





	The Perfect Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: The perfect Christmas tree.  
> hope u enjoy, straw. :*

 

Being a bartender, you were pretty used to mixing drinks with the briny tears of sorrowful men.

There would always be the Terrible Trio that swung by every winter, without fail: New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day, and _Christmas_. The Terrible Trio was a combination of the ultimate times of year when people would remember that oops, they were really goddamn lonely—and with loneliness comes good business.

New Year’s was full of silly-string covered couples that would choke each other out with slimy tongues in the back corner to celebrate their future to come. You’d see them again before the next one, red-faced and demanding of the strongest drink you had, their partner conveniently absent. In contrast, you’d also spy the desperate singles hurriedly trying to snatch somebody—anybody—up for that dreadful kiss at midnight. No need to think about how many kids the world would see roaming around by late September.

Valentine’s was a given, with a more bitter note than the rest as people mourned the _“what could have beens”_ , like forgetting to ask the number of the cute barista that always spelt names wrong (because obviously, they’d been the one). Others would despair in the booths tearfully with shrill _“look, he’s got a new girlfriend already and here I am, crying at the bar!”_. To each their own.

But Christmas was different. Christmas was quiet, yet Christmas was the one that just _hurt_ the most. Christmas Loneliness was special in that it was just… sad. Truly, horrifically depressing. It wasn’t just a day for tragic twenty-something millennials to swipe through Tinder. Christmas Loneliness was for the people who didn’t have their families to go back to; the ones who didn’t have friends to sit around a fire and celebrate with. It wasn’t not getting gifts or missing out on seasonal peppermint coffee; it was the true misery of being by yourself. Christmas Loneliness was for the people who were the most alone you could get in this sad, spiteful world. In that way, you hated Christmas most of all.

That, and Mariah Carey on repeat. _God_ , enough is enough.

It was a traditional white Christmas: bells tolling in the air, snow for ages, strings of lights, pine wreaths, holly, creepy mall Santas that reeked suspiciously of marijuana… the whole shebang. The snow piled up in big, heavy puffs, building up soft toques for the sleepy denizens of the outdoors. Lazily, you leant forwards with your head in your hands as you watched somebody outside struggle to claw their way through the deep pockets of flurries. They eventually passed the window and went out of sight, and you sighed.

Business was painfully slow. Normal people would take stat holidays off, but the extra pay was enough to hold you through the shift. Your friends complained about you being a workaholic, but you didn’t exactly mind being at the hole-in-the-wall bar you worked at for the holidays. Your friends were busy on the 25th, anyways, off with their lover or family and not at all with you. So you took the Christmas shift. You always did. Christmas was when the most interesting people—the people who weren’t around just to purchase a shot (or six)—would roll in. But daylight was burning fast, and your only guests had been a party of reunited college kids a couple hours earlier. The silence was a breeding ground for thinking, and you couldn’t help but wonder if _you_ were actually becoming part of the Lonely Crew that you vehemently pitied.

Maybe it was your own fault that you were sitting on your ass by yourself. _You_ had been the one to insist on ‘spreading your youthful wings’ and taking off to New York, New York, chasing dreams that had long since dissolved into wet tobacco on dirty streets. Shame was a partner in holding you back from flying back home. You didn’t want to face your parents empty handed, much less the long lines of aunties and uncles that would ask you how things were ‘going’ when nothing was ‘going’ at all. The other thing was that you were too broke to afford a ticket, even if you wanted to. It wasn’t easy getting by in one of the most expensive states of the United Americas. So, you got the occasional Christmas e-card (a Hanukkah themed one from your weird Jewish cousins, too), and an awkward FaceTime call that ended up with your father shouting at the dog and your mother accidentally hanging up on you early. And that was it.

Wow. You were a sad sack of shit.

You were halfway through another pathetic sigh when the bell at the door chimed, signifying a customer. You perked up and pretended to look as if you’d been alert the whole time, and definitely hadn’t been scrolling through the Instagram discovery page a second ago. The patron stamped his boots at the door, shaking off the fine layer of snow that had built up from outdoors. Your heart leapt up into your chest. He was _gorgeous_.

“Hey,” he greeted, cocking his head with an almost shy smile. His fair skin was reddened from the biting elements, giving him a flush that complemented the incredible bright blue hue of his eyes. You lassoed your manners back from outer space and tried to shut out the onslaught of _oh my god he is so beautiful_ in order to smile back.

“Hi.”

“Slow day?” he asked, sitting down on a stool at the bar in front of you. It was a good sign that he hadn’t swept off to a booth to be alone, because it meant that you could justifiably pester him with small talk.

“Yeah, pretty much. It’s always like this during the holidays.” You bounced back onto your heels, tapping the counter expectantly. “Can I get you something?”

“Anything that’ll warm me up. Surprise me.”

He discarded the rest of his winter clothes as you turned. Mulled wine was pretty much the classic holiday order, so you poured him a serving of that (and a splash extra, for you were suddenly in the festive, giving mood when faced with such a genetically gifted human being).

“So, what’re you doing out and about today?” you asked curiously, after he thanked you softly. His light lashes fluttered, and you saw the spark of a wry, self-deprecatory grin flash across his chiseled features.

“I’ve got nothing better to do, I guess.”

“I’m in the same boat as you. Christmas used to be a lot of fun as a kid, but now…” You trailed off, not wanting to bring the mood down any further when it was already sinking like Jack into the frozen ocean. Hastily, you asked, “do _you_ celebrate it?”

“Yeah, I do. Used to, at least. But I get what you mean.” Another sip, his eyes clouding over with memory and sentiment. “Me and my old friend used to set up this crappy tree for Christmas. We were too poor to get each other gifts or do anything else like that. We’d go to mass or something, but man… that tree was such a pain in the _ass_. I mean, it’d never stand up straight, and all the ornaments would just slip off of the branches. But it was tradition, so we wrestled with it every year.”

“Hey, it kind of sounds like I have your tree’s evil twin.” You pointed behind him to the sad, barely metre tall tree propped up on a table in the corner. It had a paper Dollarama star on the top and a fine perimeter of plastic pine needles around it. The branches were bare and flattened and you could actually see the silver metal rod that was meant to be its trunk. He laughed after looking over his shoulder, and the sound made your heart flutter proudly.

“Yeah, something like that. You really didn’t put in that much effort, huh?”

“Hey,” you defended with the same teasing punch, “I’m too busy serving you!”

“And I’m very thankful for that.” He raised his glass to cheers you and finished the rest of his honey brown drink. You moved to top it up, but he waved you off, resting his head against a hand. The TV behind you was playing the fireplace channel with the eternally burning yule log, and he watched it nostalgically. Something about him made you wonder, and you just had to ask,

“What are your plans after this?”

“Me? …I don’t know.” He looked genuine with his nonchalant shrug, before meeting your eyes. “What about you?”

“Dunno. Guess we’re both just… _around_ until tomorrow.”

He drummed his fingers on the bar table, eyes low as he looked to be deep in thought. After he seemingly made up his mind, he looked up to you with a miniscule hint of humour on his face.

“I mean… if you’d like, we could fix up that tree of yours right now. I know Christmas will already be over by tomorrow, but it has to be a cardinal sin to let a tree stand like _that_.” He gestured over his shoulder to the sorry excuse of a fake pine tree, and you couldn’t help but be shocked.

“You’re pretty bold to be asking me to drop everything just to go Christmas tree shopping with you. I don’t even know your name.”

“A friend of mine told me to put myself out there more often.” He extended a large hand, the same glimmer of wit behind his eyes, like he already knew what was going to happen before it even started to happen. “Steve Rogers.”

If it was any other guy or any other day, you would’ve told him to go home and take a cold shower to cool his ego. Maybe it was his perfect jawline or maybe it was the fact that he was out here in a ratty pub in Brooklyn with you instead of an actual family. Maybe it was the fact that you too were suffering from the ailment of Christmas Loneliness. Something about him made you feel like you’d be dumb to say no, and something about him made you feel like you absolutely had to say yes. There was trust in his face. So you took his hand, cold fingers and all, and shook it once.

“[Name] [Surname]. You’ve sure got a good friend behind you.”

His palms were rough and his smile—oh, that smile—was golden.

\---

You were not too worried about turning away any potential customers by leaving your post since—surprise—there was nobody to deny service to in the first place. Still, you had reservations about leaving with Steve that you expressed while pulling your felt coat around yourself.

“I’m pretty sure all the stores are closed.”

“I know a place nearby. Family-run. They’re open every day.”

“So you’re local?” you asked, closing up the door behind him. The snow outside seemed to muffle all sound. Despite being in the city that never slept, the roads were bare and the windows were all shuttered and dark. It gave the world a fuzzy quietness that was not quite as eerie as the silence a fog would give, but cozy, like the silence of a warm log cabin. He had his hands in his pockets as he waited on you, eyes turned up to the sky as snow began to build on his golden blond hair.

“Yeah. I haven’t been back home in a while, though.”

“I see. You travel a lot?” A guy looking like that had to be successful. You could guess superstar lawyer, or international stock broker. Or maybe he was just a flat-out supermodel. Your daydreams on what he could be ran on until he shrugged, simply.

“I just got back from service.”

Soldier. You couldn’t help your surprise, and maybe a bit of disappointment that he wasn’t some billionaire CEO, but figured that All-American discipline fit his star-spangled manner all the same.

“I’m not from around here,” you admitted. Your hands were deep in your pockets to shield them from the cold, and you were wading through the snow, not possessing the same gift of height as Mountain Man Steve did. The snow was so powdery and fine that it was easily kicked away by your boots, looking more like glittery fairy dust than anything else. As you talked, you could tell that he was listening intently, and that he might actually care about what you had to say, even though you’d only just met him today. You went on to explain how you’d moved here from way-over-there, and he nodded.

“I know. I can tell you didn’t grow up here. Not many people from New York would be willing to spend Christmas day with an absolute stranger.”

Your indignant gasp met a toothy grin. You couldn’t help but lean into him, pushing him playfully, despite the fact that you couldn’t seem to move him an inch.

“Well, _you’re_ the one from New York spending time with a stranger, so who’s the weird one now?”

“I guess you’re right.” When he chuckled, the laugh crystallized in the frigid air as if it was meant to be preserved. “I’ve always been the weird one.”

The touch of his arm on your shoulder was suddenly electrocuting. He slowed to a stop and tilted his head, and you tracked his gaze into the small shop downstairs. The lights were on, a faint yellow square-shaped glow under the layer of snow that had fallen upon the window. You followed him down the steps, finding yourself in a highly cluttered, disorganized convenience store. Bright wrappers for candy and chips were stacked high, and shelves were full to the brim with random shit that gave the place a chaotically retro aesthetic you could appreciate.

“I used to come here all the time as a kid,” Steve explained, shaking snow off of his head with his hand as you looked around. “I pretty much grew up in this part of town.”

“That’s funny. I should’ve come here earlier to catch a glimpse of young Steve, huh? I’m sure you were a stunner in high school.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think you could’ve come by early enough,” he murmured under his breath, which was so quiet that you were sure that you heard wrong or hadn’t meant to at all. Not wanting to pry and make things awkward when the relationship was fragile enough, you pretended you hadn’t heard at all.

“Hey, here’s all the Christmas crap!” You noticed the shelves full of sparkly cheap tinsel and low-quality ornaments, promptly making a bee-line to them. Steve came up behind you as you sorted through the miscellaneous decorations. His presence felt like it was ultra-tangible. You were probably imagining it on your numb skin, but you could practically feel his breath ghost over your ear like fire.

“Huh.” He abruptly made a quiet hum of realization and you gathered that his attention was elsewhere. Looking up to him, you kept on looking up, and felt your heart drop like a pin when your eyes caught the gaudy plastic mistletoe strewn from the ceiling. It swung over the door innocently, and the tickle of a blush was brushing up against your neck, which you hastily hid underneath your gigantic knit scarf.

“You gonna kiss me, Steve Rogers?” you asked, innocuously enough, but with _just_ enough coquettishness that he would know that you wouldn’t hate him if he did. Yes, you’d just met him, and yes, he was a goddamn human specimen. Yes, you probably shouldn’t smooch a stranger, but you always want things you shouldn’t have. It’s how good stories are made out of crap experiences. You just didn’t think anything bad could come out of Steve Rogers.

“I don’t kiss girls on the first date. It’s unbecoming.” But you could spy the patches of a mottled pink mosaic plant itself on his face, and the embarrassed shuffle he was doing was enough to deliver you from complete disappointment.

“Chivalry isn’t dead in this day and age. But hey, Steve?” Your brain was only just catching on a realization that he’d let slip, and your eyes narrowed with the mischievous smile. “I didn’t get the memo that this counted as a date.”

He didn’t say anything in return and you suddenly worried that you’d taken the banter too far. You were about to wave it off as a joke before he raised his hand, brushing a droplet of melted snow off of the fringe of your hair with his thumb so gently that it was like he wasn’t even touching you at all. He wasn’t wearing gloves or mittens, so his bare skin brought an electric chill down the curve of your spine. His eyes were suddenly stern, and serious, and your breath froze in your throat as you waited to hear what he was about to say.

“Sorry.” He seemed to snap out of his reverie just like that and dropped his hand, clearing his throat as he turned away. You couldn’t help but stand there, totally paralyzed since that _almost moment_ had almost happened. You’d known him for something like a couple of hours, and he was making you feel twelve all over again. Love at first sight? Hell, you hoped not—but still, you couldn’t stop yourself from scrambling to save your ego with another teasing jest.

“W-well, I hope you take rain checks, Steve. I’m going to put it onto your tab.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” With perfect nonchalance, he turned over a packet of ornaments. “I always pay back my dues.”

You had to turn away so that he wouldn’t see the stunned, idiotic grin plaster itself across your stupid face.

\---

“It’s…”

“Friggin’ ugly.”

You both shared a quiet laugh as you looked upon your work. Tacky, static-filled Christmas music blasted from the radio, and the snow kept on coming hard. Despite throwing all this gold tinsel and all these multi-sized plastic balls onto the tree, it still didn’t look quite as grand as all the pictures and songs depicted. The tree was still crooked like an old man’s back, despite Steve’s best efforts to straighten it out. It didn’t have the balance to stand on its own after you’d burdened its arms with far too many ugly ornaments, and it drooped into the wall to remain upright. The lights that you’d gotten for it were such garish colours, clashing with every other colour available on the spectrum. It was just a whole mess to look at.

You tipped back a sip of your drink (hoping that your boss wouldn’t notice that the expensive top-shelves were suddenly in lower supply than they had been before), and leant back into the chair you’d drawn up to the table the tree was balanced on. Steve straddled his own, leaning against forwards against the chairback. The sleeves of his grey sweatshirt were rolled up, complementing the worn wash of his blue jeans. His whiskey glass went back and forth from each hand as the both of you sat in each other’s company. You couldn’t help but keep stealing glances to him. You were no idiot—you were fully aware of the fact that there had been not been enough time for mutual bonding, and you’d be weird to call him a ‘friend’. Still, there was a total since of intimacy hovering in the air, and he made you feel comfortable.

“Well, it’s not just about that. It’s about the people you spend Christmas with that counts.” His tone was a bit sadder, suddenly. You knew that he was missing somebody in that head of his; somebody that he was wishing upon. You just had to ask.

“Why are you alone, Steve?”

“I… well, it’s a long story. But let’s just say that everybody moved on.” His smile was lined with regret and you were reaching over before you could stop yourself, your cold hands lying on his hot forearm to give him a comforting squeeze. He looked up to you, and you held his gaze with a soft smile.

“Cheers to us, then. And this ugly ass tree.” You raised your glass and he hesitated for only a moment before touching his to yours, the soft _clink_ resonating throughout the empty bar. His grin was crooked and imperfect but endearing all the same.

“I think it’s perfect the way it is.”

“You know what, Steve? Even though you appear to be blind, you’re welcome to swing by any time when you’re free. I’ll fix you up on the house as thanks for spending Christmas with me.” You shot another gulp down your gullet to steel your nerves, and then, connotatively:

“You can cash in that mistletoe.”

“I guess I’ll have to take you up on that now.”

So yeah. Christmas Loneliness sucked. But you felt incredibly warm despite the blue December chill. And, even though you were sick of Mariah singing for her Christmas wishes to come true, you figured that your own holiday miracle had already come right to you—and he had terrible taste in Christmas tree décor.

**Author's Note:**

> https://goo.gl/6qVfcc


End file.
